


Keep You (Safe) Within my Shadow

by lavenderlotion



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, BAMF Stiles, Claudia Stilinski Dies, Comatose Peter Hale, Developing Relationship, First Kiss, First Time, Good Parent Sheriff Stilinski, HEA, Happy Ending, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Magical Claudia Stilinski, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Making Out, Masturbation, Mates, Murder, Murder Husbands, Tentacle Sex, Threesomes (the third party is Stiles' magic), Weddings, Werewolf Courting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-03
Updated: 2019-05-30
Packaged: 2020-02-16 13:50:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18692794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lavenderlotion/pseuds/lavenderlotion
Summary: Stiles has never been scared of the dark. The shadows are his friends.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AuguriesofInnocence](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AuguriesofInnocence/gifts).



> I had this random idea and then wrote this in a week during March? Idek, but I really like it. 
> 
> Also this is a Birthday gift to my lovely Beta. I hope you enjoy<3
> 
> Updates are every week!

Stiles has never been scared of the dark. The shadows are his friends, and they play with him when no one else will. Some of Stiles’ earliest memories are about the shadows, his friends, his  _ magic _ . His mama explains to him that his shadows are tools, things that he will learn to control as he grows bigger, that she can do it too. She shows up when he is four, playing quietly in his room with his shadows and giggling happily. 

Mama controls the shadows in a way that Stiles can’t, but he doesn’t mind. The shadows aren’t Mama’s friends, but they are his, and they do things for him all the time. He loves them, and he loves that the shadows are his and mama’s  _ only _ . Another thing that is just theirs, like their dark and hair and dark eyes and the little spots that mama calls beauty marks. 

Sometimes Stiles gets a little upset because they are both so different from his dad, but he loves his dad just as much, even if he doesn't have magic—he  _ is _ a police officer, which is really awesome too.

Mama teaches him more about the shadows as he gets older. She shows him how to have them do simple things, explains the pit in his chest where he can control him. He knows it’s there, but he never has to use it. If he asks, his shadows do whatever he wants, and sometimes they do things Stiles needs before he even asks them! They’re his friends, and they’re  _ awesome _ .

What isn't awesome, though, is that his mama is sick. It’s slow at first. Stiles doesn’t notice until she forgets to wake him up for school and the shadows shake him awake and help him get dressed. Stiles wakes her up after he’s ready and she takes him to school, and that night he tells his dad about it, thinking he’ll laugh.

He doesn’t laugh. Stiles is ten, and they tell him that Mama is sick and that she needs to go away so that she can get better. Stiles doesn’t like it when they take her to the hospital, because the house is too quiet without her in it. They used to stay up really late, much later than his dad ever did, talking all through the night with the shadows keeping them company. 

His mama isn’t here to keep him company though, and he stays up alone thinking. He is eleven and his father is asleep in his bedroom, worn out by the shifts he has been working, hours longer than he should. Stiles wishes he could help, but he knows that he's too young to work. He's only eleven; he can't do anything about the money they need for all the bills they keep getting. Dad puts them in a drawer in the kitchen that he doesn't think Stiles knows about, but the shadows whisper to him and tell him what he needs to know.

So Stiles knows that things aren't good. While he can't work, he  _ can  _ do little things. He asks the shadows to wake him up before his dad, and they do, shaking him gently until he's yawning and stumbling out of bed. He keeps the lights off in the kitchen—he doesn't need them to see and the shadows don't like them; the artificial light stings—and they help him make his dad breakfast. Stiles whispers words in a language that his mama calls dead, and he knows that the fruit he makes will give his dad energy and that the veggies he chops up will ensure his continued health.

He does this every morning, and every morning his dad stumbles down the stairs and puts on coffee and hugs Stiles against his legs with a smile that makes him feel like a  _ superhero _ , all because he made him a lunch like his mama always did before. Because his mama can't make his lunch because she's in the hospital. And Stiles doesn't think she's ever going to be coming out, so he does things like make his dad lunch and do their laundry while his dad works more hours than Stiles thinks he should be.

Because his mama is sick and she isn't here, and Stiles doesn't have anyone to talk with when he stays up late. His shadows try, he can tell, but it isn't the same without his mama's soft voice telling him stories and teaching him about the magic they both wield. He misses her, so much that it hurts, and all of a sudden he  _ needs _ her and he can't—he can't—

He leaves. Tonight everything is too much, and he leaves. The door opens for him silently, the squeaking of the hinges swallowed up by the darkness he smiles at. He isn't scared as he walks to the hospital. He knows that no one can see him even if he can see himself, that as long as he sticks to dark streets and alleyways he has nothing to worry about. Even though Stiles doesn’t control the shadows like Mama does, they still keep him safe. 

They do everything he wants them to do as long as he uses his manners, and even most times he forgets. They're very nice to him.

Stiles has to walk around to the back of the hospital to get in. The shadows don't like it here, which Stiles thinks is why Mama is so much sicker. She had grown more forgetful after the first time she forgot to wake Stiles up, and both his shadows and his dad were watching her, getting more and more worried.

She didn’t want to go to the doctors when Dad said they should. They had argued and argued but eventually she had gone, only after his dad started crying. It didn't help.

Stiles had stayed with the old lady across the street that he doesn't like and his shadows had gone for him, slipping under their car and slithering with them, skipping through the hospital as quickly as they could. They had sat in a little corner and watched as his mama had seemed worse than ever, sitting in the cot as the Doctor talked to her. 

The shadows thought it was because of the lights, but lights never hurt Stiles, so he wasn’t sure. They explained that his mama put so much of herself into them that without them she was only half a soul. They told him it was okay when he began to worry, that Stiles was so nice to them they didn’t need to take his soul.

It hurt Stiles to know, and he tried to explain to his dad that she was only going to get worse in the hospital. Mama had always told him not to talk about the shadows, so he didn’t, but he  _ wanted _ to. 

Mama stayed at the hospital that first night and even though they turned down the lights in her room, the shadows didn't go to her like they always went to Stiles. He had begged them to, but they wouldn't, not even when he said please and started crying. They had just wrapped around him and hugged him and had made him feel better, but they hadn't helped her.

They help him now. He slips into a side entrance that he knows about thanks to Scott's mom. The shadows don't like Scott very much, and one day they followed him home and climbed into his dreams when he slept. From there they had found Mrs. McCall, a nice nurse that Stiles liked, and they found out about the side door that would let them in without being seen or being hurt by all the bright lights in the front. The shadows open the side door for him. 

He looks up at the shining sign and thinks there should be an alarm going off like when he accidentally opened the wrong door at the station. There is no noise and no flashing lights, so he smiles and lets his hand trail over a few tendrils that have risen to meet him, and mumbles his thanks.

Stiles knows that he's in the Long Term Care ward, and he shuffles down the hallway quickly. He doesn't know how late it is, but the moon had been high in the sky when he had left the house, and the walk to the hospital isn't a very long one. He’s never been here at night, but one time when he was visiting Mama he walked around and came down this very hallway. Stiles had looked at some of the charts, but they had made him sad when he realized these people wouldn't be getting any better. It made him think of his mama, lost without their shadows, and how she wasn't going to get any better either.

Stiles reaches the end of the hall quickly, but before he can push the doors open the shadows jump to his hands and tug them down, trapping them against his sides. Stiles makes a noise of protest as he tries to pull his hands up, but he can't move them. He frowns down at the shadows even as he listens to them whisper. There is something he needs to see, and they urge him to the side so that they can show him what that something is.

They bring him to a room, wrapped around his hand and sliding between his fingers. He lets his shadows lead him, curious and a little unsure but trusting them not to hurt him. The doors they stop him in front of doesn't stay closed for long. He doesn't bother looking at the little chart on the door. The shadows will tell him whatever he needs to know.

There is a man lying on the bed, the white hospital blankets tucked up snugly around his body. He is breathing shallowly, his chest rising and falling steadily. Stiles watches for a few minutes, entranced by how  _ still _ he is. Stiles doesn't think he's ever been that still before, even in his sleep. He walks closer slowly, spurred on by his shadows. They keep sliding around his legs and urging him forward, pressing against his calves and sliding up to his thighs.

He peers over the edge of the bed curiously. The man really is tucked in, the sheet going all the way up to his collarbone, exposed by the stretched out neckline of the shirt he has on. His shadows are more excited than Stiles has ever seen them, and they're literally climbing the walls. It makes Stiles giggle, very quietly, watching as they dance around. He's drawn closer to the man, both by the shadows and by his own curiosity, and he raises himself onto his toes to see as much of him as he can.

The name whispers through his ear as he goes to say it. “Hello, Mr. Peter,” Stiles says softly. The shadows slither around his ankles and push him higher so he can peer over the bed. Half of Peter's face is a littered with scars that look painful, bright red lines, edged with black that could only be charred skin. The thought makes his stomach roll, but he doesn’t pull back.

The sight makes Stiles' heart hurt like it does when he thinks of Mama.

He doesn't like it, and the shadows bring him closer so he can press his hand against his cheek. The skin is so warm that it almost burns him, but Stiles doesn't pull his hand away. This feels important, and Stiles often listens to the feeling in his belly. His mama tells him it's important to, and he always listens to his mama.

He trails his fingers over Peter's cheek, smiling a little at how bumpy the skin is. He kind of likes it, likes how it makes Peter's face look. His face feels warm when he thinks that, and the feeling in his tummy only grows stronger. The shadows slither up his side and over his arms and then along Peter's skin.

They hiss, and Stiles watches as they pulse over the rough scars. They look like they are painful, and that makes Stiles sad. He doesn't want Peter to hurt, not when he looks so pretty. His shadows agree with him, and they murmur in his mind, too quietly for Stiles to understand what they're saying, but he thinks he knows. They like Peter too, which was why they brought him here. A few minutes later, in which Stiles spends the entirety of staring at Peter's face, the shadows that were jumping over Peter's skin seem to settle.

He watches, his smile growing, as Peter's face seems to relax—the tension that Stiles can only see in its absence fades away, and he knows that the shadows made it stop hurting for him. He thanks them quietly, letting his fingers brush against Peter's bumpy skin. The black bits are gone, and what had been bright red is now light pink, which makes Peter even  _ prettier _ .

Stiles feels his face go warm even as the shadows let him back down, and he feels silly for calling Peter pretty so many times, even if it was just in his own head. He knows the shadows won't judge him especially as they seem to agree with him. They like Peter even more than he does, and his shadows have never liked  _ anyone _ before, except, maybe, Stiles' dad.

“Goodbye, Mr. Peter. I'll come visit again soon,” he says, the words falling from his mouth without him even thinking them. As he says them he knows them to be true in the same way he knows that Peter hasn't been visited in a long time.


	2. Chapter 2

Over the next few weeks, Stiles visits Peter a lot. He visits him mostly at night, because his shadows get sad if he sees Peter during the day. He only goes a few times, on days his dad takes him to visit Mama, and they always seem to pout around for days afterwards, upset that they didn’t get to spend any time with Peter. 

So he goes at night, hidden by his shadows as he walks down the street. One night it rains, but the shadows cover him and don't let him get wet once, and he thanks them the entire walk over for being so kind. That night, the shadows urge him to untuck the sheet from around Peter's body and pull his arm out. When he does, Stiles gasps, his heart breaking inside his chest when he sees the same scars that cover of Peter's face running down his arm and over his hand.

The scars that litter his arm are worse than the ones on his face were. They are redder and more spots are covered in black patches. When Stiles presses his hand to Peter's forearm, they feel even warmer than Stiles remembers his face feeling. The shadows feel angry upon seeing this, and Stiles knows why. Peter is hurt, and they didn’t know, and he feels horrible for it.

It takes much longer for the shadows to work, but Stiles stands there as they slither along Peter's arm and bubble over his skin, talking quietly. He likes coming in and telling Peter about his day. It was something he used to do with Mama, but Mama doesn't like listening to him anymore, so Stiles doesn't often to get to talk to her.

The shadows let him know that the sickness is eating her mind and that she still loves him even if she doesn't remember him. Stiles thinks they might be lying to him, for the first time in his entire life, but he says nothing. If they are lying, it's only to protect him. Because his mama can't love him if she doesn't even know who he is, and that hurts more than knowing she's going to die.

It's why he tells Peter about his day instead. Peter always listens—maybe because he can't move, but Stiles likes to think it's because he enjoys hearing about Stiles' day as much as Stiles enjoys telling him about it. As the shadows work on Peter's arm, Stiles tells him all about how Jackson was being mean to Lydia—a girl in his class that the shadows don't hate as much as everyone else—but when Stiles tried to see if she was okay, she was just as mean to him.

Peter is never mean to him. He doesn’t say anything, sure, but he isn’t mean to him. Which is why Stiles likes him so much. And that he’s pretty. Stiles keeps thinking so, and he keeps saying it in his mind and sometimes whispering it, like the one time the sun had laid across Peter’s face and made him look like something otherworldly. The shadows always seem to agree, twisting happily when they see Peter.

They don’t stop going over his arm until Stiles needs to leave. When they pull away, the black is gone but the skin still looks like it might hurt. Stiles feels bad, but he promises Peter he’ll come back tomorrow night and keep working on it. 

In the weeks it takes for his mama to pass away, Stiles heals every scar that he can see on Peter’s side. It seems to make the man happy, and one of the times that Stiles visits, Peter’s lips are tilted up at the very edges, as though he were trying to smile. It makes Stiles’ heart feel too big for his chest. 

It’s also the day his mama passes.  

Stiles is going to be twelve in less than a week and his mama is dead, and everything hurts. The shadows comfort him, and they curl around Stiles and cuddle him when he can’t leave the bed. They bring him food from the kitchen, stronger than they had been before. He thinks that it has something to do with his mama dying, but he doesn’t like to think about it.

When he finally does let himself think about it, he wonders why he never saw it before. Mama’s magic had been controlling them, yes, but it had been holding them back, too. Without his mama’s magic over them, they have the power to do more, to  _ be _ more, and instead of turning on Stiles like Mama would sometimes threaten they only want to help him. 

They do things for him like they always have, but they're able to do more, able to tell him more. They don't mind the light being on in the kitchen when they help him make Dad's lunch, they carry the laundry basket when it’s piled too high for Stiles to do it, and they hold him all through the night so he doesn’t have nightmares. 

It makes Stiles happy. He doesn't have his mama, but he does have his shadows, and together they help his dad with his grief. Stiles had known that this was going to happen, that his mama was never going to live, but his dad had hoped for something better. The first night, he had driven Stiles home and locked the door and left, coming back a long while later unable to stand up on his own.

The shadows had helped Stiles get him into bed, and the next morning Stiles looked up at him with wide eyes and told him that he couldn't handle losing both of his parents. Dad hadn't gone out that night, and he and Stiles had made dinner together in the kitchen that was far too quiet. They had sat in the living room that felt too big, and they had pressed close on the couch. It felt different now that she was gone. Even if Stiles knew she wasn't coming back, her presence still filled the house and kept his dad's hope alive. Now that she is gone...everything feels heavier, like each breath takes just a little more effort than it has a right to.

He doesn’t visit Peter for a while. Days stretch into a week which stretches into a month before he goes back. The shadows wish him Happy Birthday and his dad buys him a cupcake, but Stiles cries when he blows out the candle. Even if he knew it was coming, losing his mama  _ hurts _ , all the time. 

It’s why he doesn’t go visit Peter for so long. At first, even the thought of being back in the hospital hurts, but then he doesn’t go because he feels too guilty. He told Peter that he would keep visiting him, and Stiles is sure that his visits are helping him get better. Peter shouldn’t have had to suffer just because he wasn’t strong enough to go see him, and that thought keeps him away for three more days before his shadows push him out of the house.

They miss Peter too, and eventually, he can’t ignore them. He slips out when his dad is sleeping and walks to the hospital, his shadows keeping him company and keeping him from turning back when he wants to. He’s nervous about seeing Peter, even if he knows that it’s really silly. Peter doesn’t even talk, and half the time Stiles isn’t totally sure if Peter knows that he’s there or not. 

The shadows open the side door for him like they always do, and Stiles’ steps don’t even touch the ground as he walks. They’re being extra careful today, and Stiles feels bad for keeping them away for so long when he could tell that they had wanted to come here so badly. He stops outside of Peter’s door, taking several deep breaths as he tries to get ready to see Peter for the first time in nearly a month and a half.

Slowly, he reaches out, fingers curling around the cool metal of the doorknob. He tells himself that it’s okay, because he came back, which is more than he can say for Peter’s family. Opening the door gently, Stiles tries to ignore the way that his heart is beating so, so fast inside of his chest and does his best to keep his breathing normal.

“Hiya, Mr. Peter,” Stiles says quietly, a shadow closing the door without a noise. He steps into the room and immediately feels bad. The shadows all but swarm peter, curling around his bed and piling atop him. They feel so happy now that he’s back, and Stiles knows he’ll never stay away from Peter for so long again. “I’m sorry I didn't come back,” Stiles tells him. His voice breaks and his shadows climb up his legs and hug him around the waist. “My mama died. I knew she was going to, but I’m still sad. Not—not as sad as my dad, but still sad.” He has to take a deep breath and clear his throat. “I’m not going to leave again, I promise.”

He steps closer to the bed, and the shadows jump from Peter to him and pull him closer. He stands right next to the bed and pulls Peter’s hand out of the blankets. The shadows tell him that Peter likes it when they hold hands, which always makes Stiles blush and feel all squirmy, but he keeps doing it. He doesn’t know how the shadows know, but he does believe them. 

“I really hope you’ll get better soon,” Stiles tells him. His chest is sore, but it’s not bad, not like when thinking about his mama. This is a good sort of pain, one that Stiles is  _ sure _ is going to end in happiness. He keeps running his thumb over Peter’s knuckles, the blush on his cheeks trailing down his neck when he keeps hold of Peter’s hand. “It’ll be so nice to finally meet you.”

Peter’s hand tightens, his fingers curling, just slightly, around Stiles’ own.

* * *

When Stiles is twelve, the shadows urge him towards his laptop, materializing enough to lift it open. Stiles is still blinking sleep out of his eyes as he types his password in, yawning hugely. Even if he doesn't need much sleep, he’s still not a morning person, and he always finds it hard to pull himself from the comfy cocoon of warmth that his bed makes. He doesn't bother turning on the lights. Dimming his screen as much as he can, Stiles pulls up Chrome.

Stiles has no idea what they want, but they're being annoyingly persistent. He still isn't used to them being like this, pushing and prodding until Stiles does what they want him to. They had never been like this before, when his mama was still alive. They had listened to him and mostly did only what Stiles asked them to. Having them ask things of  _ Stiles  _ and push him to do things is still new, but he doesn't really mind. He likes his shadows, and he knows they care about him.

Closing his eyes, he lets his fingers move on their own. The shadows can't move him, not really, but they're slithering into his mind and speaking in soft whispers, telling him what to do. He lets them take a bit more control, realizing for the first time how intertwined with each other they really are. When he finally opens his eyes, a few minutes later, there are a handful of tabs open on his screen, though he can't seem to make out what they're trying to tell him just from the shortened titles.

He clicks onto the first one and has to blink a bunch of times before he really believes what he sees.

Well, if his magic is real then he can definitely believe in werewolves. He looks through the article that the shadows have pulled up and reads it over twice before moving on. The next site is still about werewolves, but much more focused on this concept of mates that the previous site only skimmed through. According to this page, mates were life long partners destined by the fates, and while Stiles isn’t so sure about that part...he likes the sound of it. Of one person being out there for him.

Stiles wonders if maybe his parents had been mates, even though his dad was human, and that's why they have always been so in love, and why Dad has been so devastated since Mama died.

He pushes that thought away, focusing on the next page. This one is a news article, and the date places it at two years before. “ _ Brutal fire wipes out an entire family in a town-wide tragedy.” _ . Stiles knows what the article is about before he reads it, but he still makes sure he focuses when he reads it over. He can remember the Hales, and he knows Peter's last name and why he’s in the coma, but he isn’t sure why his shadows want him to know about this.

And the werewolves...it can’t be. There is no way a house fire could kill an entire family of werewolves. They would have smelt the smoke before it got bad enough to burn the house down. They would have felt the heat before the fire was big enough to take any lives. It doesn’t make any sense, unless—unless it  _ wasn't  _ an electrical fire. If what Stiles  _ thought _ the shadows were trying to tell him...it can’t be. There’s no way.

The next page is a link to the arrest of two men for arson, which had taken place only a few years before the fire. Stiles stares at the two men, his shadows climbing around him, but he  _ knows  _ it wasn't them.  _ Who was it _ , Stiles thinks, pushing the thought out of himself and into the awareness that he knows are the shadows, but there’s no answer. He takes a deep breath and tries not to let his frustration get the better of him. If the shadows are showing him this instead of telling him, there’s probably a reason.

After the two arsonists, there’s PeTA's page regarding hunting for sport. That one Stiles doesn’t look through, figuring he can catch the drift of it from the title alone. The last page is about statutory rape, and Stiles pauses as he reads it, and uneasy feeling rising in his gut. He’s sure it has to do with the hunters, seeing as that was the page before. 

So. Hunters. Werewolf hunters burned the Hale family alive because of, or with the help of, a minor, most likely someone in the Hale family. Which would explain why no one has come to visit Peter since Stiles started going. Stiles definitely remembers that only three Hales survived—Peter as well as his niece and nephew—and if one of them had been the cause of the fire, well. Stiles wouldn't visit his badly burned, only living family member either.

He takes a deep breath as he pushes away from his desk, his mind running. He’ll have to look through a few files at the station. Maybe he can bring his dad something for dinner, one day this week, and let the shadows get what they need. If the fire  _ was _ arson...well, Stiles doesn’t think the shadows are going to be happy letting that go, and Stiles doesn’t he will be either. 

Not when it caused Peter so much pain. 


	3. Chapter 3

When Stiles is fourteen, he is woken up in the middle of the night by his shadows. At first, he doesn't understand what's going on. All he knows is that something is  _ wrong _ and they want him to do something about it. He has no idea what that something is or where they want him to go or what they want him to do, but they are freaking out, climbing along the walls and rolling along the floor in giant waves.

Stiles tries to calm them down, stepping out of bed and letting them crawl up his body and cover him. He does his best to hug them even as they continue to twist and wither around him. They aren't happy and Stiles has never seen him like this before. Agitated and restless, pulsing and snapping and moving more than Stiles has ever seen them. He can feel them in his chest, their fear and worry and their  _ anger _ .

He's never felt anything like it before. It's always been the other way around, always been the shadows calming him down. Stiles doesn't know what to do now that it's the shadows that are upset, seeing as he's never had to comfort them before. They want him to leave, and Stiles has been sneaking out for so long that it doesn't take more than a thought to get out of the house. The shadows lower him out his window, settling him gently on the ground before they wrap around him to keep him from being seen.

He heads to the hospital briskly, as that's always where the shadows want him to go. In the last few years, his promise to Peter has held true. Stiles visits him regularly, almost every day, and the shadows will get restless if he goes more than three days without seeing him. Usually, all Stiles has to do is start walking towards the hospital for them to calm down, but that doesn't seem to be the case tonight.

Even as they get closer, they don't calm down. His shadows stay wrapped him, keeping him from being seen, but they don't stop shaking and quivering. It doesn't stop when they open the side door for him, nor when he walks down the hall to Peter's room. The door, when he gets to it, is open. Stiles frowns, knowing that the shadows are silencing his footsteps as he gets closer. He's never before seen Peter's door open during the night, not a single time in the last three years.

The door to the room opens silently. Stiles is able to slip inside without a sound, and his eyes widen at what he sees. There is a nurse that Stiles has never seen before in the room. His shadows get even more upset when Stiles spots her, slinking along his back and growing above him, layering against one another until Stiles can lean back into a solid mass that they have created. He has never felt like them like this, and it scares him.

Stiles has to bite into his bottom lip so hard that he tastes blood when he realizes what's happening and why the shadows are so angry. He can’t see exactly what she’s doing from behind, but Peter’s sheet is flipped up. He’s never seen it anything other than tucked in, and a feeling he doesn’t like settles heavily into his stomach. 

Her arm is moving and Stiles can tell that she’s moving her arm in long strokes up and down Peter’s leg. A blinding fury fills his chest, and in a second he’s so angry that he can’t even  _ breathe _ . He wants to rip this lady apart for touching Peter like this, and not only because Peter is  _ his _ but because Peter is still unconscious. Stiles’ dad is the damn Sheriff, he knows enough about consent to know that Peter can’t possibly give it like this.

Before he can think of anything better, he's speaking.

“Hello,” Stiles says softly. He pushes his voice higher than it naturally is and forces his eyes a bit wider than they naturally look. The nurse turns to him with wide eyes, though they sharpen when she takes in his appearance. Stiles ignores the rage that is building inside his chest and does his best to make his lower lip quiver. “H-hello. I was l-looking for my m-mama's room, and I, I know I'm not supposed to but I just, I miss h-her and I wanted-d to see her, but I got lost. Could you, could you help me, please?”

The nurse's face shifts and she displays several emotions that she probably doesn't mean to be so easily read. Stiles can see how her annoyance melts away to concern, and Stiles catches the way she hastily flicks the blanket back down to cover Peter's leg. When she takes a step forward his shadows reach towards her at once, and Stiles has to use every single bit of his strength to keep them back. He turns away and scrubs at his eyes so she'll believe he's embarrassed about crying, and he uses the moment it grants him to push the shadows back even as they fight him with everything they have.

_ “Kill her,” _ they demand.  _ “Just wait,” _ he tells them, his entire body trembling with the control he's exerting to keep them down. He's never done anything like this and it  _ hurts _ , but he knows that he can't do it here, not in Peter's room. So he takes a deep breath and focuses on the growing anger and uses that emotion to keep them pushed back as he follows her through the hospital.

He knows the building better than he has any right to, but he has spent years sneaking into the place. His dad is the Sheriff and there are little things that Stiles has learned throughout the years, things to watch for and pay attention to. It's easy to spot cameras when you know what to look for.

They're turning a corner when Stiles does it. Stiles knows he has eleven steps before the next camera will pick them up. It's a silly flaw in security, and one Stiles is glad to know of. As his foot touches down on their second step, he lets go of the hold he's managed to keep on the shadows and urges them forward. He stops, watching as the shadows jump from the floor and wrap themselves around the nurses' torso. They climb up her body in a swirling mass and by the time she opens her mouth to scream, she's nothing but endless darkness.

Stiles doesn't think about what the shadows are doing when he turns away. He doesn't think he wants to know, and for the first time he's thankful that he never had to control them like his mama had. Her magic had been different, Stiles knows now, and she had to control the shadows with an iron grip. For him, the shadows are his friends. They do what he asks because they like him and he likes them, too. They mean so much to him, and he's so thankful for them.

Like now, when Stiles can walk away filled with the confidence that his shadows are going to take care of the nurse and that he doesn't have to be there. As he hurries back to Peter's room, a few stays with him, padding his steps and keeping him quiet. He can feel the others, can feel what they're doing. They are elated, and a laugh almost bursts from Stiles' throat filled with joy that is not his own.

He hurries back to the room with his heart in his throat. He has an idea of what the nurse has done but it’s the last thing Stiles wants to think about. Instead, he focuses on the way his shadows are pulsing with glee. He doesn’t try to find out what they’re doing, still feeling a little uneasy from having to exert control over him, but he does let what their feeling filter into his chest.

By the time he lets himself back into Peter’s room, he knows that the nurse is gone. There is no way she has lived through the shadows, and Stiles doesn’t mind. He knows that they will make sure it never gets back to him, so he’s not worried. He does think he should feel something about her death, but then he pushes into Peter’s room and sees him lying there, completely defenceless, and his heart fills with rage all over again. 

“Hello, Mr. Peter,” Stiles says quietly. He doesn't call him that always, but his heart is racing and his fingers are shaking and he feels like he's going to fly away. “I am so sorry.”

He rests his weight against the edge of the bed, gripping the metal edge until his knuckles turn white. His eyes are burning but he does his best not to cry. When he’s able to take a deep breath without choking, he slips his hand under the sheet to find Peter’s. He leaves it down, leaves him covered, but he wraps his fingers around Peter’s, and he starts crying, again, when Peter’s hand wraps around his own, tighter than it has ever been before.

He leans forward, resting his forehead against Peter’s arm through the blanket and holds his hand, and lets the shadows slowly return to him and cover them both. “No one is going to hurt you again,” Stiles tells him, his voice echoed by the shadows, and Peter’s hold on his hand tightens even more. 

* * *

Stiles can’t sleep. Every time he closes his eyes he sees that nurse standing in front of Peter’s bed, the blankets flipped up as her arm moved. Stiles had been filled with rage when he’d first walked into the room, but now it’s shifted into something else. Oh, he’s still angry, but the reason behind that anger is different. He’s still furious that someone touched Peter without his permission, but he’s also angry that someone touched something that is  _ his _ .

He doesn’t know where the thought comes from, and he doesn’t know what to do about it. Stiles has known Peter for years, sure, and the man is...well,  _ really _ important to him, but Stiles tries not to think about why that is. Just like he tries to think about how pretty Peter is. And maybe...maybe  _ that’s _ why he’s so mad. Because Peter is gorgeous and Stiles may, just possibly, like him.

A little.

He lets out a breath at the admittance. Now that he’s finally let himself think the truth, it’s like his brain won’t shut up. He’s assaulted with thoughts and images, things like walking around tucked under Peter’s arm and driving out to the overlook and walking to classes with their hands twined together. Even though he knows these things will never happen, for  _ so _ many reasons, he still thinks about them.

_ He is  _ **_ours_ ** the shadows hiss, and maybe they’re right. Maybe Peter  _ is  _ his, and that’s why he’s always been so drawn to him. It doesn’t explain why he’s so  _ attracted _ to him, but it has to be more than that. Right? It’s not just his shadows that feel that way, Stiles can admit. Peter’s jaw is sharp, and Stiles pictures that now, lying on his bed with the sheets thrown off him.

He’s only wearing boxers, and a hand rubs across his chest. His stomach feels warm, the feeling he’s begun to learn to be arousal growing as his skin tingles. Peter has a nice nose, and Stiles pictures that, too. Pictures the half of his face that’s littered with scars, healed to think white lines by Stiles’ shadows. 

Stiles likes the way the scars trail under Peter’s shirt, and he enjoys the texture when he holds his left hand. He wonders what that hand would feel like on  _ him _ , over his skin, and he lets out a breathless noise as he pulls his boxers down. His dick is already hard when he wraps his hand around himself, and he closes his eyes as he pictures Peter above him.

He’s never kissed anyone, but Peter is older. He probably knows how to kiss really well. It’s easy to imagine it, imagines what Peter might taste like and feel like. He likes the thought. Stiles works himself faster, just the picture of Peter spread out of him making his balls feel tight. It feels so good, and his balls feel tight and heavy. He plays with them as he strokes himself, imagining Peter’s hand touching him  _ there _ .

A tendril of shadow wraps around his cock, and Stiles bites into his palm to quiet the cry he lets out. His dad is down the hall, he has to be quiet. He squeezes his eyes closed as it works him, and the feeling is  _ so different _ than anything he's ever felt before. It’s cool, and it’s working him slower than Stiles usually works himself, but it’s  _ so good _ .

He’s never felt like this when masturbating before. He thinks of Peter and wonders what his cock would look like, if it would be thick or long. He’s seen a few porn videos, not many but some, and he imagines dicks he’s seen in those videos attached to Peter’s body. 

Stiles comes when the shadows pinch his nipples. He had no idea they were sensitive, but the moment a shadow is pressing them, he’s spilling over his stomach, hot come marking up his belly. He pants through his orgasm, the shadow milking him through it all, and he collapses back into the bed to try to wrap his mind around what just happened. 

Well. His shadows just gave him a hand job. And he’d only thought about Peter. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ;)


	4. Chapter 4

Peter opens his eyes a few weeks later. It happens in front of him, close to three in the morning. Stiles is sitting in the armchair that is kept tucked into the corner of Peter's room, his hand twined with Peter's over the blanket. He's not talking, choosing to enjoy the silence. His shadows are calm, and Stiles' free hand pets over the mass of them where they've settled over his lap. It's a good night, which has followed a fairly good week.

He's going to be turning fifteen soon and things are good. Stiles is letting his eyes slipped closed for longer and longer periods of time. He finds that he doesn't need much sleep to keep himself going. He compensates it with food that his body burns as energy and naps during Harris' class, the shadows under his feet paying attention to the lesson. Honestly, Stiles would much rather spend the night awake and with Peter, like he's done for years, and tonight is no different.

Fighting back a yawn, he rubs his eyes and blinks them in rapid succession, forcing himself to sit upright in hopes that it'll wake him a little. Dad had cooked that night—or had  _ attempted _ to cook—and Stiles had decided to go without instead of eating the charred piece of meat Dad had served him. He isn't hungry, but he is tired, and he's finding it harder and harder to keep his eyes open.

Which is probably why he doesn't notice Peter's eyes fluttering open as it happens, and when he finally does, it doesn't kick in that this is unusual until the hold on his hand goes unusually tight, Peter's fingers clenching around his hand until it feels like the bones are grinding together. Stiles blinks himself into awareness, his shadows rising along his back, ready for whatever needs to be done before Stiles' breath catches in his throat.

“Your eyes are gorgeous,” Stiles breathes out, jumping out of his chair and leaning over Peter's bed to get a better look.

He doesn't let go of Peter's hand and instead brings his other hand up to thumb the soft skin under Peter's eyes. His shadows crawl up his side and along his arm, pressing on the little control that raises the bed until Peter is sitting up. His eyes are darting all around the room, taking in as much as he can from his position. They track up and down Stiles' body heavily, and for a moment he wishes he was dressed in something nicer than his dad's old hoodie and his most comfortable pair of jeans.

“Hello,” he says quietly, and Peter's eyes snap up to his face. Stiles can feel his cheeks getting warm, and he knows that he's flushing under Peter's sharp gaze. There is so much in his eyes, much more than Stiles knows how to name, and he loses himself staring, watching his irises shift in the soft light coming from the corner lamp. Stiles takes a deep breath, and Peter's grip tightens around his fingers. “It's nice to finally meet you.”

The skin around Peter's eyes crinkle and Stiles catches the corner of his lips twitching up. He smiles so widely that his eyes scrunch up and his shadows pulsate with glee all around him. Stiles watches Peter's eyes trace around the room, looking at Stiles' shadows with open curiosity. The shadows seem to enjoy Peter's attention, as they dance around the room, preening when his eyes follow them.

“These are my shadows,” Stiles tells him. He's told him before, of course, but he has no idea how much Peter may remember from the last few years.

Peter's lips tilt into a smile that takes Stiles' breath away, and when he speaks, his voice is a scratchy, rough from disuse, but still the most beautiful thing that Stiles has ever heard. “You must be Stiles.”

Stiles laughs, louder than he ever lets himself be in Peter's room, knowing the shadows will cover his outburst. His eyes are stinging and he presses even closer, shifting so he can cup Peter's cheek in his palm, his thumb still moving over his stubbled skin. Like this, Peter is even more attractive than ever before, and Stiles can’t look away.

“I didn't think you'd ever wake up,” Stiles tells him, his voice shaking as emotion builds and builds until his chest feels so full it could burst. “Peter—”

“Well I had to introduce myself sometime, didn't I?” Peter says, and Stiles laughs again, tears spilling over and clouding his vision. He takes his hand from Peter's face to wipe them away, quickly putting it back, needing to touch and prove to himself that this is real. “It would just be rude, otherwise, to leave my mate waiting so long after giving me such a lovely courting gift.”

That draws Stiles up short. His smiles falls, just a little, trying to figure out what exactly Peter could meanwhile his brain tries to process that Peter had just called him his mate. Which, in hindsight, actually makes a lot of sense and explains the way his shadows act about him. It's still overwhelming, with what he knows about mates, but...it isn't an unpleasant thought. 

Peter  _ is _ attractive, that's something that Stiles has always known. Even when he was younger he thought that Peter was pretty, but as Stiles got older and started having certain thoughts and...urges, the way he’s felt about Peter has changed. He still thinks Peter is pretty, especially now when the scars that cover his face are no longer charred and inflamed, but just raised lumps and lines of white skin.

Peter is...the hottest thing that Stiles has ever seen, really, and Stiles has thought that since his very first wet dream, which had starred nothing but Peter’s face and the rough skin of his burned hand against his body. The thought of courting Peter is more than pleasant, but Stiles doesn’t remember doing any such thing, even if he  _ has _ thought about it every now and again. 

“I didn't leave you a courting gift,” he says, and as soon as the words leave his mouth he regrets them. If Peter thinks he left him something, especially something he liked enough to  _ wake up _ , Stiles should have just run with it! Peter's lips pull down into a frown, and Stiles wants to lean in and find out what they taste like. 

“Jennifer's heart, darling. I do appreciate such a carnal show of affection.” Peter’s lips are twisted into a grin that makes Stiles shiver, heat pooling in his belly and making his cheeks flush. Peter breathes in deeply, his nostrils flaring before he grins even wider. 

“I don't—” Stiles stops, biting into his bottom lip. He pulls his hand away from Peter's cheek to put it on his hip, and he turns toward a mass of swirling darkness. “What did you guys do to Jennifer's body?”

They slink down to the floor, pooling into a shifting mass that manages to look sheepish. Stiles breathes deeply as his looks heavenward, shaking his head. “Next time you leave someone a human heart, can you at least tell me so I don't look like an idiot?”

“You definitely don't look like an idiot,” Peter tells him sweetly, and Stiles looks down to find him smiling softly, prettily. He likes the way it shapes Peter's face. 

He leans in before he can stop himself or remind himself of all of the reasons that this is a horrible idea, and he presses their lips together gently. He’s never kissed someone before, and he tries to ignore how that thought makes him feel. Stiles is nothing more than a kid, not even fifteen yet, but Peter is kissing him back, making Stiles’ heart race against his chest almost painfully. 

They only pull apart when Stiles needs to breathe. His entire face is warm, the heat travelling down his chest. He knows that he must be blushing darkly, and he’s worried that Peter won’t like how it looks. He’s been told it makes him look sick, and he doesn’t want Peter to think of him like that. 

“You’re gorgeous,” Peter says, as though he could read Stiles’ minds, and Stiles ducks his head with a smile. “I can’t move much else, but why don’t you come up here,” Peter says, his smile turning lewd. “You don’t smell nearly enough like me, and that needs to change.”

Stiles flushes darker, but he does as Peter asked. It takes a bit of time to get himself onto the hospital bed and curled up against Peter’s chest, but he manages. When Peter asks, he pulls the man’s arm around his shoulders and drapes it there. He pushes up for a kiss, throwing his leg over both of Peter’s and curling even closer, draping more of his weight against his chest.

“Darling,” Peter breathes, nosing Stiles’ temple and rubbing his chin across his forehead, pulling a giggle from Stiles. “I am so happy you found me.”

“I’m happy I found you too,” Stiles says quietly, wrapping a hand around Peter’s waist to squeeze him in a hug, the smile on his face so wide he’s worried it’s going to split his face open. 

* * *

Ever since Peter began to talk, things have changed. The most noticeable is how much they touch. Before, Stiles was always hesitant to do much more than hold Peter’s hand, not knowing if the touch would be wanted. But now that Peter is able to express himself, it’s clear that he  _ wants _ Stiles to touch him. Stiles doesn’t sit in the chair, not when Peter insists that he curls up with him on the bed.

Peter favourite position seems to be Stiles spread over his lap, and Stiles can’t say that he minds it either. He tends to wrap Stiles in his arms as much as he can. Sometimes he’ll have Stiles pull an arm around him so that he can hold him better. Peter says that Stiles doesn’t smell like him, and every night Peter spends time rubbing his face into Stiles’ neck and shoulder and across his hair, leaving behind his scent. Knowing that he smells like Peter always makes him feel a certain way, and sometimes he gets hard when Peter drags his lips over his skin.

Nothing more than kissing ever happens, but it doesn’t bother Stiles. Peter can’t actually move, and Stiles doesn’t want to do anything to make Peter uncomfortable. If he does get hard, he’ll leave it until it goes away, cuddling up with Peter. 

Tonight he doesn’t waste any time before crawling onto the bed. Peter opens his arms as much as he can, letting him burrow close. He still doesn’t have full movement, but his hands are fine and he can move at the elbow. 

“Have you heard from Laura and Derek?” Stiles asks quietly. His face is pressed into Peter’s neck and Peter’s hands are running along the bare skin of his thighs. It’s summer, and the nights are hot, and Stiles definitely uses that as an excuse to wear short shorts. 

The fingers around his thigh go tight enough that they sting, but all Stiles does is cover the rough skin with his own hand. Peter takes a deep breath, holds it, and then lets it out slowly. “They abandoned me.”

His voice is more of a growl than actual words. Stiles has never heard him like this before, and his heart clenches painfully. He raises the hand to his mouth so he can brush a kiss against Peter’s knuckles, settling in heavier against his lap. He hates upsetting Peter. Certain things will make him angry, specific words or being touched a certain way, and Stiles always feels bad. It’s hard on them both, when it happens because not even Peter knows if something is going to upset him until it does.

“Do you want to know where they are?” 

“No. Pack is important to werewolves, darling. It is more than family. We’re  _ connected  _ to each member of our pack. They’re part of ourselves, and we share a bond with them that is tangible. When my family died, it felt like I was losing pieces of myself, like I was having my limbs torn away. I felt every single pack bond break and felt as though I was nothing more than a hollowed out corpse. I was  _ nothing _ . And they left me behind in this place, under my own name. It would have been easy for hunters to find me and finish their job. They abandoned me and I had nothing.” Peter’s breathing is laboured, and Stiles rubs his fingers in little circles over his chest. This isn’t something they’ve ever talked about before, and the pain in Peter’s voice makes Stiles’ eyes burn with tears for him. “That is, until you. I was stuck in my own head for years until I started hearing your sweet voice, and my wolf forced me to get better so it could meet you.  _ You  _ are my pack, my family, everything that I need. You are my mate, sweetheart,” Peter’s words make Stiles flush, and his heart all but beats out of his chest. It feels like a lot, knowing how much Peter cares about him, but Stiles...well, Stiles feels the same. There’s never going to be anyone else for him.

“I love you,” Stiles says quietly. It’s not the first time he’s said it and certainly not the last. Peter says the words back, and then they fall in a bittersweet silence for some time. Even as they lie together Stiles mind works, never settled, and he finds that he can’t keep in the question he wants to ask. 

“Do you...do you know who set the fire?” Stiles hazards, his heartbeat picking up. He knows some things, but who set it is still a mystery that he hasn’t had any answers to. “It was hunters, right?”

“Brilliant boy,” Peter murmurs, his lips brushing Stiles’ forehead as his hand goes back to petting his thigh. “You are right. It was hunters, but they had no cause for what they did. The Argents are a monstrous family who have caused more death within the supernatural community than any name should. They don’t hunt with a code. They kill indiscriminately. They wiped out my family because they didn’t like that we  _ existed _ .”

Peter’s voice breaks, and Stiles turns so he can kiss him, twisting his torso and pressing up. Peter sighs against his mouth, kissing back, and Stiles lets the soft slide of their lips distract both of them until the claws that had been pressing into his skin melt back into his fingers. He pulls back after a few minutes, enjoying the way Peter’s eyes slowly blink and feeling proud of causing the lazy smile on his face. 

Stiles grabs Peter’s other hand and plays with it, running his thumbs over the fingers and tracing the line of his palms, something to help keep him settled even as his mind begins to run. “We could kill them. Wipe out the Argent name,” Stiles says, staring down at where he’s playing with Peter’s fingers, turning them about as his mind works. 

“Oh darling, you are  _ perfect _ ,” Peter breathes out, and he tugs Stiles into kiss hungrier than any they’ve shared before. 


	5. Chapter 5

Over the next two years, Peter continues to heal, sleeping most of the day away so that his body can work on fixing the remaining damage caused by the fire. It's a slow process, and when Peter realizes the scars littering his body will never go away, he stays silent for three days. Stiles manages to convince him that it's okay, that he doesn't care, that he...well, that he loves Peter even with the scars, and that he never knew Peter before, so for him, the scars have always been a part of him.

When they get over that, they start learning more about one another. Stiles likes curling into Peter's side and listening to the man talk, feeling the vibrations of his voice where his ear is pressed into his chest. After spending years filling the hospital room with his own chattering, it's a welcome change to hear Peter's smooth voice craft stories. He tells Stiles about his pack, about his position, about the gaping in his chest where the warmth of his family always lived, about how Stiles fills that emptiness.

Stiles tells him more about himself, too. Peter remembers some things from the time he spent unconscious, but his memory is spotty. He'll ask after things he has the barest memory of, looking for clarification or explanation if something doesn't make sense. Stiles loves the time they spend together, loves the person he's learning that Peter is.

Sometimes Peter will talk about the fire, and it's hard. Stiles was closer to the truth than he ever wanted to be, and he listens to Peter's flat voice as he talks about what it felt like, to burn alive while his pack bonds shattered apart inside his chest. He doesn't know which hurt worse. Stiles holds him through it and gives Peter space if he needs it. Sometimes all the contact Peter can manage is their fingers touching, and Stiles respects whatever it is he needs as the years pass.

When Stiles is seventeen, Peter can walk. The moon is full in the sky and his wolf is close to the surface, and he's able to pull himself out of bed. Stiles watches with wide, awed eyes as Peter reaches into the little bedside table he has and pulls out a cupcake with a candle sticking up the top. He walks over to Stiles on shaking legs as Stiles silently cries, and he flicks a little switch so the electrical candle lights up. Stiles blows the candle out, laughing breathlessly when Peter flicks it off and takes it out of the cake.

The icing is too sweet, but the cake is moist, and he finds that the sugary taste doesn't bother him when he's licking a smudge off Peter's chin.

Peter tells him that he was saving the reveal to be a birthday gift, seeing as he has no money or ability to get him an actual present. The nurses were fine with getting him the cupcake, but he wasn't sure they would be comfortable getting any of the things he wanted to get for Stiles. The leer Peter sends him makes him flush, even as he kisses Peter again.

That's their first full moon. On the next, Peter pulls himself out of bed and into the preserve. Stiles has stayed home, but he knows his shadows have slunk across town to accompany Peter on his little adventure. He's learned that the shadows are strong as long as they're around one of them.

Tonight, they go willingly, reaching out to Peter the second they can sense he's awake. While he's doing better, he's still sleeping for most of the day, his body working to heal the remainder of the damage the fire did to his body. Stiles watches through the eye of his magic as Peter rises out of bed and climbs out his window. The second his feet touch the grass he's growing, shifting, becoming something that Stiles never could have dreamed of.

The roar he lets out echoes in Stiles' bedroom. The power behind it is unmistakable, and it makes heat build in Stiles’ belly. He can’t deny that Peter’s strength turns him on, and he feels himself chub up in his pants at the unmistakable power that Peter’s roar exudes. 

He grins when Peter takes down the deer. They've set the plan into motion, and all they have to do is wait for the pieces to fall into place. Stage one of the plan, carve the sigil of revenge into a deer and leave it to be found.

* * *

The Argents arrive in Beacon Hills not even a month later. Scott falls head over heels for the daughter they bring with them and Stiles feels a little bad for his buddy. They aren't close, not like they once were, but Scott's stuck with him through the years. Sure, they mostly stuck together because neither of them had any friends, but Stiles appreciates the solidarity.

Stiles camps outside the house they move into, a cute Victorian in the very centre of town, as far away from the preserve as they can get. His shadows are wrapped around him, keeping him hidden from sight in the tree he's set up camp in. He's been texting Peter a little, just to pass the time, and the last message he received made his cheeks flush warm enough that he put his phone back into his pocket.

He doesn't like Victoria just from what he's heard of her. Peter's list of contacts is rather extensive, though there isn't much he's able to do when he's trying to maintain his status of comatose. Keeping Peter in the hospital was something they'd argued about. Stiles didn't like it, not when Peter was able to walk and move around. He wanted Peter to come home with him, but the man wouldn't budge. He said it would be safer if the Argents thought of him as harmless, that he could play a bigger part in keeping Stiles safe if he didn't have to worry about keeping himself safe.

That only left a few select people open to them. It was enough for Stiles to get a pretty clear picture on the Argent clan, and he's not impressed with what he's heard of Victoria. As bloodthirsty as her father-in-law, she was set to be the next Argent matriarch despite having married into the name. It was unusual for someone not of Argent blood to rule the family, but Victoria had been proving herself as fit since before she even met Christopher Argent.

Christopher Argent, who was soft-spoken but efficient. His kills were clean and humane, like the code called for, but he was rumoured to be weak-willed. He appears behind Victoria in the window, stripping off his shirt as they speak. Stiles isn't close enough to hear, but he knows his shadows are listening and will carry to him anything that he needs to know.

When the light goes off, Stiles knows that it's his time. His shadows carry him down from the trees and his feet are silent when he lands on the grass. His shadows wrap around him and hide him from sight, a swirling mass of nothingness as he strides to their front door. It opens without a sound, the shadows spilling into the alarm system and stopping it from going off.

Stiles takes the stairs without hesitation. He’s had a blueprint of the house since the Argent’s first moved in and it doesn’t take much time to find their room. Stiles stands in the doorway, silent and swathed in darkness, and he listens to them talk to one another. By the time Christopher is mumbling about finding the Alpha, the shadows are moving.

In the end, he doesn’t have to lift a finger to kill them. His shadows do the work. All Stiles has to do is watch as they envelop Christopher and Victoria’s bodies, surrounding them in a darkness that even Stiles can’t see through. By the time they pull away, their skin is pale and their chests are still, and Stiles knows they’re dead. The shadows seem to grow, swirling into a larger mass of darkness as they move on. 

Killing Allison is just as easy. There were four children under the age of six who had died in the Hale fire, as well a pair of unborn twins. Allison may not have been inducted into the hunting community yet, but she would be, and Stiles isn’t one to leave anything to chance. He doesn’t even go to her bedroom to do it, the shadows already slinking along the hall as he walks back down the stairs. 

As Stiles leaves, the shadows slither into the kitchen and turn on the stove.

* * *

_ “Beacon Hills suffers second tragic fire this decade, killing three in their sleep before the fire is controlled.” _

* * *

A week after the fire, Stiles watches as Gerard Argent stalks down his school's hallway. He hides his smirk in his locker and as the man passes by a strip of shadow caused by a tree branch. He trips and goes flying forward, landing heavily on the tiled floor. Stiles rolls his eyes, but his smile is fond when he pets a strand of shadow that's materialized inside his locker.

* * *

Stiles tells Peter that he wants Kate Agent. He tells him to think of it as his courting gift, if that's what it takes, and Peter looks absolutely offended.

“The minute I can leave this damn hospital bed for longer than a few hours, I am going to court you properly. I will not begin my side of the courtship with something so frivolous.”

But, even with his complaints, he gives in. Stiles has realized that Peter doesn't often say no to him, and he sometimes abuses it for silly things—like the collection of silly selfies he has of the two of them on his phone. He would never have imagined that Peter would give him something like this, though, and his heart feels like it's going to flutter out of his damn chest with how overwhelmed he is.

He leaves Gerard for Peter as he stalks into the night. Stiles knows that this is the end, that after tonight everything is going to change, and he’s looking forward to it. This day has been years in the making, and Stiles can’t stop the grin that twists up his lips as he stalks down the streets of Beacon Hills. It’s late and the moon is full. They both thought it was fitting for what they have planned.

Kate is staying in the one motel that Beacon Hills has, her sporty little car parked outside of her room. It all feels too easy, but he reminds himself that they’ve been planning this for a year. Of course everything is working out—Peter is a  _ genius _ and Stiles isn’t an idiot. Together they make a wonderful team for this sort of thing. 

Stiles doesn’t get any closer than the sidewalk on the other side of the street, but he knows she’s inside because the shadows are already in her room. He stands still and lets them work, smiling easily. For all that Stiles can be twisted, the shadows are absolutely evil at times. He watches from the street as the light fades from her window until there is nothing but a shifting mass of black.   
  
Kate Argent dies slowly and she dies painfully. His shadows make sure of it.

* * *

There is a streak of blood along Peter's cheek that runs over his eyebrow. It belongs to Gerard Argent and Stiles figures his body is strewn across the preserve, presumably in little pieces that no one will ever be able to identify. For as brutal a murder Peter no doubt committed, he’s almost impeccably clean. There is blood under his nails and a small smudge on his wrist, but that is all the evidence left behind.

Stiles grins, holding out his hand. Peter doesn’t take it and instead wraps his hands around Stiles’ hips and hoists him into the air. Stiles is glad that his dad isn’t home for how loudly he laughs, cackling as Peter spins him around and around his room. He tangles his fingers into Peter’s hair and tips his head back to look at him. His eyes are shining red, a surprise that Stiles doesn’t question, and when Peter sets him down, Stiles wastes no time before darting forward for a kiss.

He licks into Peter’s mouth in a way that still feels new. The furthest they’ve gone is this—making out in Peter’s hospital bed with a little bit of light grinding. Peter had said that consent was important, and Stiles still wasn’t eighteen. He wasn’t going to argue, not when he could remember what that nurse had been doing before Stiles showed up, but it didn’t mean he had to like it.

Now, though, it doesn’t seem like Peter is thinking about the age of consent at all. He’s holding Stiles’ ass firmly, kneading the skin between his fingers, licking into Stiles’ mouth like he’s laying claim. Stiles opens up for him, twisting Peter’s hair around his fingers and kissing back for all his worth. 

Peter lifts him up, bouncing Stiles onto his hips and Stiles groans as he wraps his legs around him. He rolls his hips forward, dragging his cock against Peter’s stomach. Peter turns them, eating up the distance to the bed with long strides. He lowers Stiles onto the bed and follows him down, covering Stiles’ body as his lips trail down his jaw to his neck.

He pulls at Peter’s shirt, annoyed with the fabric keeping them from touching. His shadows don’t seem to like the clothes either, because a second later they lift Peter’s shirt overhead and attack Stiles’ jeans. Stiles laughs breathlessly when Peter pulls back with an expression that looks very similar to a confused puppy.

“They like to be involved,” Stiles tells him, groaning when a shadow slides down his chest and into the waistband of his jeans. They pull his cock out of his pants as they push his underwear down, and he pushes his hips up so they can tug his jeans the rest of the way down. “I-is that okay?”

Peter kisses him in answer, hungrier than before, and Stiles groans into his mouth. The shadows take care of their clothes, and everything feels so much better when their bare skin is pressed together. He runs his hands over Peter’s back and along his sides, enjoying the differing texture between his two hands. As much as he wants to pull back and just look, it feels too good to stop.

He vows to do that during the next round. 

His shadows slide along his chest and pinch his nipples as Peter kisses him. It makes him moan loudly, and when Peter pulls back his eyes flash red and hold, two burning lights in the darkness of his room. His shadows are growing around them, surrounding them, creating a cocoon of nothingness for them to disappear into. 

Peter shifts, leaves for a confusing second in which Stiles can only whine before he’s back. His fingers are wet when they press against his whole, and Stiles draws his legs back so Peter can reach into him easier. Stiles arches his back when Peter works him open. His fingers feel so different from the shadows do when they do this, thicker and harder and so much warmer. They fuck into Stiles slowly, twisting and scissoring and reducing Stiles to a babbling mess. 

“Have you played with yourself before, sweetheart?” Peter asks, his lips brushing Stiles’ ear. “You’re opening up so sweetly for me.”

“T-the shadows,” Stiles gasps, moaning around one as it slides into his mouth, smooth and round and perfect to suck on.

“Oh, isn’t that just beautiful,” Peter comments, and Stiles can barely focus on the fingers in his ass let alone the finger that’s rubbing over the hinge of his jaw. The shadow in his mouth thickens, and Stiles moans when it slides deeper. “This is incredible, darling. You are so amazing, both of you.”

Peter acknowledging the shadows makes him even harder, and Stiles can realize just how weird that is. He still cries out when Peter pushes into him, his cock stretching him out and filling him up in a way that the shadows never have. It feels so much better than anything he could have ever imagined, and the shadows pull out of his mouth so he can breathe.

He pulls Peter to him and into a kiss. It’s messy, entirely too much tongue and not nearly enough concentration, but Stiles doesn’t care. He feels like he’s getting his brains fucked out as Peter starts to roll his hips, making room for himself inside of Stiles that he didn’t even know  _ existed _ . 

It’s the best thing he’s ever felt. A shadows wraps around his cock and works him in time with Peter’s thrusts. Peter bites into his shoulder and he sees white, pleasure blocking out everything else as Peter fucks into him harder and harder, pushing him up the bed as he rams into him. It’s rough, and it’s the best thing that Stiles has ever felt.

“Peter,” Stiles gasps, wrapping his legs around his waist to get him  _ closer _ . “Fuck, fuck Peter, you feel so good, oh my god baby this is so good I’m going to die your dick is killing me holy fu--”

Stiles’ voice dies in his throat when he comes. Peter fucks into him harshly and pushes firmly against his prostate, and Stiles’ cock explodes, come shooting onto his cheek and jaw and all over his chest. It’s the most powerful orgasm he’s ever had and his entire body locks up as it washes over him. His shadows milk him through it until he’s spent and oversensitive. He’s only distantly aware of Peter coming inside him, filling him up with warm come and rubbing his sides and his belly as they both calm down.

He lets out a puff of breath when Peter drops his weight around him, and he makes a happy noise when the shadows add their own cool mass. His brain feels like a useless pile of mush, and he doesn’t even bother trying to speak. Instead, he runs his hands up and down Peter’s back in uncoordinated sweeps until it feels like he can function again. 

“You literally killed me,” Stiles mumbles, not even bothering to spit Peter’s hair out of his mouth.

“At least I don’t have to live in a world without you, seeing as I have also been slain,” Peter grumbles into his neck, and Stiles snorts loudly. 

“Did you just say  _ slain _ ?” Stiles asks, tickling his hands down Peter’s side. 

Cuddling is something they do almost every night, but Stiles has never had Peter laid out over him like this. He likes the steady weight, and he tightens his arms around Peter’s back when he goes to move. Peter makes a noise, but he doesn’t protest, and Stiles finds his eyes getting heavier and heavier as they breathe together quietly.   


* * *

They get married the day after Stiles' eighteenth birthday. It isn't a big occasion, just the two of them and his dad at the courthouse. Stiles wears a white button down and one of Peter's fancy cardigans and it hangs loosely on his slimmer frame. Both Peter and his dad are in suits, and they each look incredibly handsome. His dad tears up as they sign their papers and Peter slides a ring onto Stiles' finger before Stiles slides one onto his. The rings are black tungsten, Peter's brushed and Stiles' polished, both of them gorgeous.  


Stiles smiles up at him and leans in for a kiss, the shadows under his feet pushing him up and pressing them closer together. He laughs against Peter’s mouth, happier than he’s ever been, and knows that this is only the beginning. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here's the last chapter, a day early! thank you to everyone who commented along the way, it really means a lot <3 this story was so much fun to write, and I really adore the outcome. 
> 
> thanks for reading :D

**Author's Note:**

> comments and kudos are much appreciated!  
> come say hi to me on [tumblr](https://lavender-lotion.tumblr.com/)!


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